Something Beautiful
by Sera and Wolf
Summary: You really do love her, don't you?


**Enjoy!**

* * *

It's rare to find a Demacian and Noxian in a relationship, but it has happened. Most cases end poorly; it is the reason why it is often said that their hatred for one another was a thing innate. But some are willing to prove such things false, and we know one such Demacian and Noxian who might have a chance.

There was a training room deep in the bowels of the Institute of War. Not officially called such but after being the location of numerous 'friendly' sparring sessions, it was, unofficially, the place to go to blow off some steam. It was to this room that Garen now strode to. He had steam to blow off. Some can call it a 'lovers' tiff; Garen and Katarina are fighting again.' He preferred 'Katarina antagonising him; typical Noxian won't leave him alone.'

Demacia hated Noxus. That's a fact established over the deaths of many of both populaces. Why? Too hard to explain. Think of them as two sides of a coin, each having a completely different perspective, the coin spinning on its edge. No matter how hard the two city-states try, one cannot force the coin to fall. Tails and heads can never see eye to eye on any matter and they oppose one another for no other is the epitome of their existences, and why, despite the Rune Wars and the League of Legends, they are still going at it like a pair of cranky old men.

The same goes for the individuals. Hence you can see Garen and Katarina's dilemma, and why the Might of Demacia is looking for a reason to sweat a little, and the Sinister Blade is now looking for a someone to throw a dagger at, after the pair of them had another one of their smouldering hate-stare competitions.

The training room was an expansive hall, empty of anything. One's footsteps on the wooden floor can echo throughout the walls. There have been events when champions have literally obliterated the place, like that wresting competition between Alistar and Volibear last week, but it's always completely repaired the next day, somehow. It was a nice place for exercise of the mind as well as the body, Garen found. The qualities of the room were also why he always loved bushes. During League matches, he'd just lie in them and well, chill, and nap, that is until someone steps in and wakes him.

And you thought he was playing Peeping Tom when he hides in bushes.

Garen stepped towards the doors of the training room. His usual attire was gone. He wore civillian clothing. His trusty sword was gone too. Imagine that.

Someone was already inside.

Sounds of someone's fast footwork thudding the wooden floor, and heavy, labourious breathing were audibly heard.

"If I see just one more Noxian…" Garen grunted, peering through the gap of the door. A barefoot figure in grey shirt and training shorts can be seen.

It wasn't Katarina. But it was a Noxian.

Well, technically.

Now, Garen had no sword. He had no bush. But he be damned if he walk away from this affront to Demacian justice. How that makes sense is beyond me.

So he took the predictable, and of course, stupid action.

The doors slammed open on their hinges, he swept in, a spinning, albiet, swordless blur.

"Demacia!"

"Huh?" The room's lone occupant stared as the whirlwind of Demacian justice spun towards the champion. Garen abruptly changed courses and veered off to crash into a wall, back off, crash into another wall, crash into the first wall and finally collapse.

Admirable enthusiasm. Bad sense of direction. The champion thought wryly.

Garen blinked back into consciousness, to find a pair of sable brown eyes staring sharply down at him, a tad amused.

He got to his feet.

"Demaci-"

Something grabbed onto his ear and pulled till his eyes watered, pinching and wrenching his earlobe. He was depressingly reminded of his mother, who would often do the same thing to him when he was younger and more vertically challenged. How he hated that. It was the Might of Demacia's one weakness, to his everlasting shame. The battlecry was cut off halfway in his throat, to become a whimper.

What followed was a few seconds where the pair of them stood still as Garen attempted to resist the pain, before sagging forward,the hand on his ear the only thing holding him up.

"It seems to me, what we have here, is a failure to communicate." The champion holding him captive by the ear pointed at him. "You. Stupid." The finger turned to point at its owner. "Me. Friend." The syllables were drawn out, like when an adult is trying to explain something to a child.

"Noxian!" He spat, trying to grab at the offending hand. He was shaken like a puppy with an attitude problem for his efforts.

There was a sigh. "Former Noxian, if you would be so kind," Riven corrected.

"Once a Noxian, always a Noxian! Your kind are the scum of this world!"

Riven was about to open her mouth to retort, before she suddenly noticed something in Garen's hate-filled eyes. Staring hard, Garen was horrified to find a spark of comprehension light up in her eyes. "Lovers' tiff eh?"

"No!"

"It's Kat, isn't it?"

"No it's not!"

"Right. Whatever you say." And with that Riven let go of her grip.

Garen massaged his ear woefully. He could have sworn she made it larger, as hard as she pulled. He towered over the white-haired woman, attempting to ignore the pain in his ear. "You have to leave," he growled, remembering who he was speaking to.

Riven crossed her arms. "And why is that?"

"Because I came here to train."

Riven threw out her hands to indicate the vastness of the hall. "There's plenty room for two."

"No there really isn't."

There was an tense silence. Then Riven stepped forward and up on her toes, putting her eyes on level with his. She poked a finger at his chest. "Then prove it."

Garen glowered at the Exile. The challenge was there. She'd thrown the gauntlet in his face. But he could not accept. Fighting was forbidden in the Institute and though some champions won't blink before throwing a punch, the consequences for him would be political and of a far more deadly nature. Something like a snarl arose from his throat. He turned around and stomped towards the doors.

"You really do love her, don't you?" Garen stiffened. "Pity you're not half the man a Noxian could be to her." Riven knew she hit the bullseye, because Garen turned and something murderous lit up in his eyes.

"Say that again," he dared.

Riven raised an eyebrow. "You. Can't. Handle. Her," She stated.

Garen's hands clenched. "You're wrong."

"Am I? And just how are you going to back up that claim?"

It was wrong to think of it. But that challenge was still there, and now, it became very attractive. A smile curved his lips. He had no sword but neither did she. He also had size, strength and reach. Furthermore, she had already been training, and for some time considering the sweat running down her face and dampening the cloth of her singlet shirt. Her body was weary while his was alert. In a bareknuckle fight, he was sure he'd come out on top. "We spar. Loser eats her words."

"His words," Riven corrected, stepping forward.

Garen shrugged, undoing the laces on his boots, setting them aside at the door before walking towards her, holding his fists up. "Whatever you say, Exile."

"Hmm, I wonder, what will it be like if I told Kat that I thrashed the Might of Demacia today?" Riven settled into a stance and motioned with one hand.

Garen charged at her. Cocking his fist, he swung it at Riven's face. She ducked and danced continued to come at her, his blows hitting empty air, and she skipping away, not even taking the openings he gave. "Stand still!"he yelled in frustration. He chased her around the hall.

"Not till you actually land a blow." Riven than went on the offensive and try as he might, Garen was pummelled to say the least. While his swings met air, she methodically struck him again and again with feet and hands: face, neck, legs, arms, torso. He gasped as she hammered a fist at his stomach and held down his breakfast as it rose in his throat, with difficulty.

Riven gave him a look of approval.

Than she ducked his punch and headbutted him on the nose.

Garen stumbled back into the centre of the hall and retreated as she lunged at him, not giving him pause for breath. He remembered what she can't afford to lose to her, or she'll tell Katarina. Though the pair had argued many times in the past, they had always relented from coming to blows in the Institute, for they knew each other to be an equal. In Noxus, strength was everything. To show weakness would make him unworthy in a Noxian's eyes. It will make him unworthy in her eyes. He cannot lose her. "I will not lose her!" Garen yelled fiercely, attempting to duck her punch but only taking it on the forehead.

Riven blinked.

His fist crashed into her jaw. She leapt backwards, dizzy. He ran towards her.

"That's more like it." And with that, Riven sidestepped his jab and elbowed him in the back of the head as she circled behind him. She had already recovered.

He whirled around and grabbed her by the throat of her shirt, lifting her up.

She kicked him in the balls. He dropped her involuntarily, gasping in the pain from the blow to his manhood. He quickly kicked back, the blow hitting her in the stomach, Riven grunting in pain.

She punched him in the balls. Then as he hunched his shoulders and bent himself over so slightly forward from the second blow, she dove up and threw an uppercut at his chin. It connected and Garen felt himself fly back. He crashed onto the floor.

Riven got up unsteadily on her feet, panting for breath and clutching her ribs. Garen watched in alarm as she shuffled slowly towards him. She means to finish it, he thought. As she came to stand before him, he tried to shift himself up. He was too slow. His muscles were screaming all over the place.

Her hands wrapped themselves around his throat. She means to kill me, he thought. Garen panicked. He berated his arms to move. They would not. She'd pinned them to the ground with her legs, straddling him.

"Do you submit?" Riven asked quietly

"No!"

"You're sure?" The grip on his throat tightened, his airway cut off, the sensation alarming his brain which cried for oxygen.

"Yes!"

"Yes as in you give up?"

"No!"

"How about now?" Garen spat something profane about her intelligence. He was rewarded for his efforts as Riven squeezed harder. She leaned down till he was staring at her eye to eye, and he could feel her breath hot on his face. He opened his mouth but no words will come out. "I can't hear you Garen." Her gaze was one of complete calm – her eyes implacable.

He felt his vision going dark. He had lost. As he felt his seconds ticking away, he coughed and spluttered for breath, his face turning red.

The grip on his throat suddenly disappeared.

Air. Garen sucked it in greedly. He choked in his eagerness. And rose up on his stomach. He reached for his throat, feeling the bruise there. He cursed Riven, stringing up a chain of as many profanities as he could. As his vision slowly returned he saw Riven sitting before him, watching, a towel now hung around her shoulders and a water canteen in hand, sipping from it without a care in the world, acting as if she hadn't just strangled him to within a inch of his life.

"Feeling better now?" She asked, slightly out of breath from their bout. She tossed him the canteen.

He caught it, and took a swig. "Better? You just tried to kill me," he coughed.

Riven made a noise of exasperation. "If I wanted to kill you I would have used different methods. As opposed to choking your neck, I'd would instead break it, by-"

"Pulling it out of its socket and twisting it repeatedly." Garen finished, cutting her off. "It's more efficient. Yes I know." He stared at the wooden floor. She was right. Choking someone to death may merely just make them unconscious, meaning to ensure death was inevitable you'd have to cut off their air for a minute or so. Breaking it would take fifteen seconds, miniumum. It was a silent method of dispatching foes taught in both Noxian and Demacian armies and drilled into his mind. But still, he'd thought at the time she'd be sadistic enough to take to do it the other way.

"Besides," the woman added. "You needed like you needed someone to help you get all that anger out of your system."

Garen stared at her, agape. Bloody Noxian. He noticed a grin appear on Riven's face and realized that he'd spoken his thought out loud. Curse her. "So what now?" He asked tossing the canteen back.

Riven caught it. "Now, you get out of here and let me finish my training." She stood up and held out a hand towards him.

He ignored the proffered hand and stood up on his own, dusting his trousers. "What was the point of this?" He asked. As well as the shame of losing fresh in his mind, a question arose in his mind with sharp criticism: What possessed him to take the challenge?

A frown was his answer. "Can't you recall?" Seeing his bewildered face, she continued. "I must have knocked you about harder than I thought. We fought because I said you had not the strength to be someone to match Katarina; that you were not man enough and that she be better off with a Noxian." She drank from the canteen. "You tried to prove me wrong. You tried to show strength, till the end, till that moment when you death was seconds away."

"But I lost," Garen replied.

Riven shook her head furiously, the bangs of her hair waving in front of her eyes. She scooped them in one hand held to her forehead, wiping sweat away. "Losing is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Easy for you to say; you're the one who won."

"You make it sound like I've never lost." Riven ran a hand through her mussed up hair. "But what I'm trying to say is, there are many kinds of strengths in this world. You Demacians think that strength is something that can be abused – that's true, but that is the kind of strength one hungers for with greed." Garen had the suspicion that she was referring to the High Command of Noxus, but a glance at Riven's steady eyes made him realize that if he were to ask about such things, she'd be tight-lipped. Former Noxian or not, there are some things are patriot won't say. "There is strength in many things, Garen: the strength to fight, to apologize, to love, to risk everything on something, someone who you think is worth it, but all evidence points to the contrary. Strength like that is more important than that of the kind in martial prowess."

"That is blasphemy coming from one such as you."

"It's my own philosophy. Not that of a Noxian." Riven closed her eyes, as if reliving a significant memory. "I…had a lot of time to think about such things," she added.

Garen stared at his feet. "Nevertheless, you won. As much as you honey the truth of the matter is that I wasn't strong enough to win and thus unworthy in the eyes of Katarina Du Couteau as you said earlier." He strode towards her and held out his hand to her. "As a Demacian, I swear I'll break off-"

His hand was smacked away. "Forget that." Riven sighed. "It's almost like you weren't listening to what I just preached." She grabbed Garen by the shoulder and steered him to the exit. Garen let her. "Look, just leave and think on what I said next time you see her, okay?" she deposited him outside in the hallway, and reached for the knobs of the doors to close them.

Garen grabbed at the frame of one of the doors before it was fully closed, holding it a gap open. "Do you really think we have a chance?" As the words left his mouth he realized how ridiculous he sounded. The Sinister Blade and the Might of Demacia? They were as mismatched as the two sides of a coin. If he'd asked Jarven, his sister Lux, anyone he knew of, they'd agree; same with Katarina's people. It was the only possible answer they'd give. It was the only possible he'd give to himself. So why he does he persist with his dalliances? Why'd he think she give a different answer?

Riven smiled and for a moment, Garen could have sworn he saw happiness in those eyes, and, dare he think it possible, also a flicker of envy? "She's waiting for you, Demacian. All you have to do is find the strength and say those words, right there within you," she answered cheerily, pointing at his heart.

She shut the door.

Garen just stood in front of the door. In a few seconds, he could hear Riven inside, back at her exercising. He thought back to what she said, the image of the woman throwing kicks and punches and somersaulting, coming to a stop on one feet, the other one outstretched in a kick, hands out, her gaze narrowed in concentration and unblinking despite a loose strand of white hair in her eye fresh in his mind; the one he saw as he came to the training hall and peered through the gap in the doors before barging in. Before, the sight antagonized him, for he saw a Noxian. Now, he felt slightly awed and breathless, for he saw now something else. It was beautiful. He pressed an open palm to his face. How blind and stupid was he to interrupt the moment then. How stupid he was to believe that they were foes.

Then, just like that, he wondered what Katarina would look like practicing. She'd be out on the grounds of the Institute, twirling her daggers and throwing them, red hair wild and blown back, face alight with joy in her actions of primal violence, reveling in strength.

He turned and ran.

The Exile had held nothing against him, and beat the shit out of him to tell him he was going about it all wrong, to help him, a woman who had lost her own way, ensuring that he find his. Garen swore to himself, that he will return the favor one day.

* * *

**This was more of a experiment of Riven and Garen's personality. I'm happy to say it turned out pretty well. But what are your thoughts?**


End file.
